


In Sea And In Shore

by orphan_account



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Past-Hook
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-31 00:33:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3957766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma meets past!Hook. All of the charm, none of the complications.<br/>Killian is not pleased.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Sea And In Shore

**Author's Note:**

> Set during _that_ scene in 3x22. You know the one.

Emma hadn’t meant for it to happen.

She really, really hadn’t.

( _It wasn’t as if she’d fantasized about it before, how it would feel. His tongue tracing hot trails on her neck, breath setting her skin on fire, her hands brushing against the cool leather of his vest, slipping beneath it, trailing patters on his chest as he held her flush against him.  
No, Emma hadn’t thought about it at all_.)

And yet, when that moment had come, once she’d found herself alone with _him_ of all people, the ship completely silent around them, their breaths sweet and thick with rum –

and he’d leaned in to kiss her, so achingly familiar and yet so oddly different, and her fingers had tangled in his heavy coat, and she should have pushed him away; she _should_ have.

But she’d pulled him closer instead, and brought his lips to hers.

( _It had been so much different from that first kiss in Neverland, the one she most definitely didn’t dream of at night. There’d been so much despair then, and fervor, and a strange sort of serenity, a tormented spirit finding its coveted peace; and it’d scared her to death_.)

But to _him_ , she’d been nothing more than a passing fancy, if a pleasurable one, and he’d tugged at her hair and sucked at her lips with the intensity of passion and not of need –  like she was a welcome body and not his shot at salvation, a craving of the flesh and not of the soul and –

And, really, that was everything Emma had ever wanted.

( _In Neverland, after their kiss, he’d kept stealing glances at her whenever he thought she wasn’t looking; but Emma always was. He looked at her like he couldn’t believe she was real, and it hurt like hell because –_

 _Because she’d wanted someone, anyone, to look at her like that, once; and then it’d all gone to hell._ )

He’d whispered filthy words against her pulse as he slid his hand between their bodies, and Emma had rolled her head back and thought, _good_ , because it was simple and easy and everything she’d ever needed anyway –

and she told him to go _faster_ as he moved above her, losing herself in the slamming of flesh against flesh, clawing at his shoulders as his stubble burned against her neck, trying desperately not to think of the other man, the other him waiting for her return –

always waiting, forever waiting; he’d done a whole year of it and still hadn’t run away yet.

And maybe now he would.

( _In her dreams there were long stares and lingering touches; lazy, sloppy kisses made for tasting and not to devour, quiet whispers and tangled fingers; and all the things she’d never known she could want._ )

After, he’d rolled off her with that confident smirk she knew so well, brushed a lock of hair away from her shoulder and planted a lingering kiss at the corner of her mouth, of satisfaction and not of love, blue eyes finding her own.

“You’re more than welcome to stay ‘til morning, love,” he told her, lazily, his meaning clear – _we should do it again,_ was what he’d really said; instead of _I never want you to leave_.

Simpler, easier.

Emma should have liked the sound of it better than she actually did.

She’d returned to the inn where they’d been staying maybe two hours later, keeping her footsteps light, thanking the universe that they’d gotten two rooms and trying not to think of the fact that Hook – _her_ Hook, not the one she’d just fucked like the sort of meaningless one night stands she used to have –

That man – Hook or Killian or whatever, she’d never cared much for names anyway – was definitely awake in the room next to her, waiting and pacing and guessing what she’d been up to; and probably guessing right.

They didn’t talk about it the next morning. Emma made a point of washing up as much as she could, combing her hair neatly to fell on her shoulders to hide any mark she might have; and Hook made a point of _not_ looking at her – nowhere as much as he usually did, anyway – as if afraid of what he might see in her.

It was, Emma decided, damn awkward – like the sort of morning-after tentative friendship she’d always hated so much; only, there hadn’t been a night before, not for the two of them.

It was Rumplestiltskin who pointed out the elephant in the room, sounding more delighted than he had any right to be. He talked about portals and wands and ball invitations, and suddenly there was smoke all around her, and an unfamiliar weight all around her. “That’s a nice spot you’ve got there, dearie,” he said, pointing at Emma’s neck – and Hook’s eyes darted to it, before he turned his head away, so fast Emma thought he might have hurt himself.

Rumplestiltskin took notice. “Why, Captain, not your doing?” he taunted. “I have to admit, I didn’t expect it.” Emma frowned at his words, and the wizard chuckled at her confusion. “Allow me,” he offered, before conjuring a mirror that showed… her face, and, _oh_. There was  no mistaking the purple bruises on her neck, from right below her ear all the wait down to her collarbone. Emma slammed one hand against it, feeling herself flush, and Rumplestiltskin chuckled. “Well, not fitting for a royal ball, don’t you agree? Better cover that up.”

And he snapped his fingers, and the marks were gone, and so was him; but Hook remained.

“Well,” he began, keeping his eyes trailed to a point somewhere near her left shoulder. “Let’s go in, shall we?”

She introduced herself as Princess Leia and he linked his arm to hers and taught her how to dance, and for a moment everything was alright –

until Emma remembered the _last_ time she’d been this close to him, _this_ version of him, when she’d kissed him and lost her magic because she could not bear the thought of him dying, not after everything.

“Do you –” she surprised herself with her forwardness. “Do you think we should talk about it?”

His good hand tightened around her fingers as he twirled her around. “I don’t know, Swan,” he said, much too lightly to be honest, “do _you_?”

She didn’t know what to say – and then it was too late, and they never really got a chance until everything was right again except that it wasn’t; and they found themselves trapped inside Rumplestiltskin’s vault.

“Holy shit,” Emma whispered, looking around. “He put us in a freaking oubliette.”

“In a what?”

 _Right_. Pirate, movie references. “A place where you put things you don’t want,” she explained. “Things you want to forget.”

“But we can get out, Swan –” and, god, why did he _always_ had to sound so _trusting_? “All you need is magic.”

Magic. Magic she’d lost, whatever Hook said. Magic she would never have back, magic she frankly didn’t even _want_ , because she’d gone almost thirty years without it and survived anyway.

Magic she now needed, desperately. “Believe me,” and why, why wouldn’t he? Couldn’t he see that it really didn’t work – it wasn’t like she wanted to be stuck in Rumplestiltskin’s magic caveau forever. “Believe me, if I could make it work, I would. You think I'm faking it?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said, sounding bitter and broken all over again. “I think you can be quite good at lying to yourself, love.”

And that, _okay_ , maybe she was, but…. “What’s this got to do with anything?”

“I think,” he began, sitting down on one of the wooden chests, “it’s about time we have a talk _about it_ , as you said. Tell me,” he leaned in, face resting on his hand. “Did I meet your expectations, Swan?” He sounded taunting, cruel, like he hadn’t in forever – one hundred percent Hook the pirate, like…

Like, Emma realized, like the man she’d slept with; and she was shocked at how wrong it felt. _He_ wasn’t supposed to sound like this, not anymore.

“That _wasn’t_ you,” she spat up, uncaring that she’d just confirmed what they’d been dancing around for two days. No more feigned ignorance, not now. That hadn’t been _him_ – the Killian Jones in front of her – it was pretty much the _point_ of the whole thing.

He met her eyes, shaking his head. “Oh, but you see, that man _was_ me. He was every bit me,” he continued, even if she wanted to tell him that no, he didn’t _have_ to think that, because he was different now, and better, and… “He was me, before I met you. I bet you liked that.”

She really hadn’t. At least, not as much as she’d liked the feel of her hand in his as they’d danced, of his arms around her when he’d held her as she cried – but she’d liked the _other man_ as well; that dangerous, uncaring version of Hook with no space in his heart for anything but lust and revenge.

“All of the experience, none of the _feelings_ ,” Killian drawled. “Am I right, love?”

But he was; and what was worse – he knew it.

“If you really wanted to scratch that itch,” he continued, hurt and hurtful when she could only stand still and stare, paralyzed, “you could’ve just asked. I would’ve loved to help out a woman in need.”

“Oh god,” Emma cut in, “would you please stop being such an _ass_ about it?”

And suddenly his pretence of composure was gone; underneath it, he was _angry_. “So now it’s my fault.” He hissed, standing up again, pacing the room up and down. “Of course. I stood there, and waited and helped and hoped – and suddenly I _care_ , and I’m not good enough. That’s bloody _wonderful_.”

He sat down again after that, and didn’t say a word –

and neither did she; not for a long time.

“I’m sorry,” she heard herself say – later, much later, once the stiff silence and her own loneliness had become too much to bear. Sorry for what, she precisely couldn’t say; but she’d never felt the weight of regrets and wasted opportunities quite so much before. “I screwed up, didn’t I?”

Like she always did.

“No, you didn’t,” he answered, sounding strangely hesitant. “I should apologize too, for…” Emma felt in move closer, felt the comfortable heat of his body barely inches away from hers. “It wasn’t my place to say those things.”

Emma almost snorted. It was very much his place, when they were…. _whatever_ they were; and she’d sneaked off behind his shoulders and slept with his past self because she couldn’t deal with what she felt – but if he wanted to let bygones be bygones, she surely wasn’t complaining. “Really,” she repeated. “I’m sorry. It was – it wasn’t you. It was all wrong.”

And she leaned back against him resting her head against his shoulder, his arm coming to rest around her waist after only the briefest hesitation.

“Are we okay?” she asked, after a while; and he didn’t say anything, only nodded, mumbling softly against her hair.

She’d take it.

(“ _When you say all wrong,” he asked her, once they were finally, safely back and everything was sorted out – and sounding way to casual for him to be anything but deadly serious. “What exactly do you mean? Because I don’t know how much you made me drink, Swan, but I have to say that usually –”_

 _She only laughed, rolling her eyes. “I didn’t mean_ that _,” she informed him, chuckling a little because he could be such a_ guy _. “I mean, there was alcohol involved but it was pretty good, I guess,” and there she paused, glancing at him from under her eyelashes, a coy smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “Of course, it’s not like I have actual basis for comparison with… not drunk you.”_

_“Of course,” he agreed, smirking back at her. “What a shame.”_

_“We should get on that,” she suggested -_

_and, eventually, they did.)_

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://www.qvcksilver.tumblr.com/).


End file.
